


Stitches

by FyreByrd



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyreByrd/pseuds/FyreByrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bro paused, fingers sticky with blood. He raised his brow, orange eyes meeting red. 'I stab you yet you’re the one apologizing. I’d praise the irony if I wasn’t positive you didn’t mean any.'"</p><p>A day of sparring leads to unfortunate, albeit predictable, consequences. Bro hated it none the less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitches

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a picture floating around Tumblr of Bro stitching up Dave, and figured I'd try my hand at writing a story for it.
> 
> The picture in question: http://madragingven.tumblr.com/post/29907499140/hard-lesson

He groped blindly for the switch, grateful when the bathroom flooded with light. The katanas cluttered as they were set haphazardly against the sink, Lil’ Cal ungracefully tossed to the side. It was a direct contrast to how the tall blonde gently lowered his brother onto the toilet. “I’ll be right back,” he said, noting how pale the younger boy looked, blood seeping through the white of his shirt and fading into the red of the sleeve. _Dammit_ , he cursed at himself, grinding his teeth in an angry sort of anxiety. “See if you can get that shirt off. Don’t move your arm too much though.”

Now able to flash step without worrying about jostling his brother, he did so instead of walking the short distance to the kitchen. He filled a glass with some shitty vodka, making a mental note to get more booze. If he was the one about to get stitched up, the least he could want was something that didn’t taste like rubbing alcohol.

He suppressed a sense of guilt when he got back to the bathroom, seeing the young teen in pain and leaning his head back, round sunglasses on the back of the toilet with the bloodied shirt in the sink. “Drink this,” he pressed the glass into the boy’s hand, pulling off his own pointed shades.

He didn’t mean to get Dave; honestly thought he’d’ve flash stepped to the side instead of back. The older man was annoyed at himself in retrospect. He didn’t realize until too late that the glare off of his sword would give the illusion of being shorter than it actually was. When Dave went to parry it to the side, it ended up slicing just under his collar bone, instead of Bro twisting the blade and pulling it away. It still would’ve connected, but probably wouldn’t have been as bad.

Messing around with Cal or the smuppets was commonplace, as was hiding a plethora of weapons in innocuous places for his brother to avoid. Dave was always fast or savvy enough to avoid mishaps, and all in all both found it humorous. Well, Dave wasn’t fond of the phallic puppetry, but that was more for ironic purposes than anything. Whenever something serious came up though, like now, it shook him. He’d prefer to cut off an appendage than willingly harm his brother.

“Bro, this tastes like shit,” Dave grimaced, having downed the glass.

Broken out of his thoughts, he chuckled lightly in reply, pulling the first aid kit out from under the sink. “You’d think I’d waste the good stuff on a kid who wouldn’t be able to appreciate the difference?” His brother just scowled, fingers poking at the edge of his wound. “Hey, don’t mess with that,” he leaned over and pressed a wad of gauze over it, gesturing for Dave to hold it to staunch the bleeding.

“This fucking hurts,” the younger blond stated plainly, red eyes already glazing from chugging alcohol while slightly dehydrated and famished after sparring.

“Wounds tend to have that effect,” he replied, threading a surgical needle, remembering the first time he had to stitch the kid up.

<><><><><> 

_“Bro, this hurts! It hurts a lot!” the almost seven-year-old Dave cried, teetering on the edge of being hysterical. He pawed at his arm – a gash several inches long was bleeding profusely just below his shoulder._

_“Don’t touch it,” Bro murmured, stumbling forward as he flash stepped down the flight of stairs. It was most decidedly uncool._

_Once in the bathroom, he rummaged in the cabinet behind the mirror for the cough medicine he knew to be there, Dave perched on his arm and sobbing into his shoulder. He poured out just under the “this will totally kill your child” dose and sat Dave on the toilet. “Little man, you have to drink this, okay?” With a slight bit of coaxing he managed to get his brother to drink the sickly sweet liquid, staining the corners of the boy’s mouth purple._

_The syrup worked quickly, Dave fast reduced to just snuffling and hiccupping as he lolled his head about. Bro went to suture after he cleaned the wound, cursing himself when his hands wouldn’t cooperate. He clenched his fists, trying to alleviate the nervous tension that was completely foreign to him. It wouldn’t do to cause the needless discomfort of having to redo a stitch._

_Other than that, he worked swiftly. Having plenty of practice when he had to put himself back together as well as repairing torn smuppets, he knew how to make the most efficient stitches for the smallest seam. Glad for it too, as he’d prefer to leave as little a mark on his brother as possible. Quite unlike the first several times he tried it on himself. One could still see those few ragged scars littered across his torso._

_Bro snipped off the extra thread and covered the wound, Dave already on the verge of sleep. “Up you get,” he said gently, carrying the boy to his bed. The older blond laid him on his side and pulled off his shoes before covering him with a blanket. He stared at his brother’s form for a moment, uneasy and angry at himself for having seriously hurt him, not matter how unintentional._

_He closed the door as he left, forgoing his own bed in favor of watching some shitty movies for completely ironic reasons and not because he knew he wouldn’t currently be able to sleep. Rubbing his eyes beneath his shades, he wondered if it was a mistake having him raise Dave instead of Lalonde doing so._

<><><><><> 

“Fuck that stings,” Dave hissed as Bro wiped antiseptic across the shallow wound. It bled a lot, but would heal quickly as long as it wasn’t picked at.

“That’s why you got the booze, takes the edge off.” He leaned forward, kneeling in front of his brother to get level to where he was going to work. “This’ll be uncomfortable; try not to move okay?” Dave merely nodded, gripping the seat slightly each time the needle went in and out.

“I’m, ah, sorry.”

Bro paused, fingers sticky with blood. He raised his brow, orange eyes meeting red. “I stab you yet you’re the one apologizing. I’d praise the irony if I wasn’t positive you didn’t mean any.”

Dave frowned, “The way I’m going now, I’ll never be able to get to your level.”

He tousled he teen’s hair with his free hand, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You got it backwards little man. You don’t need to get to my level; you gotta get to your own.”

It was Dave’s turn raise an eyebrow. “What are you, a fucking sage or something? You make no goddamn sense sometimes. Trying to be serious and shit here and you just blow it off.” Bro just snorted and shrugged, tying up the last few stitches while the younger of the two fumed in irritation.

He cut the remaining thread and taped a gauze pad over the wound. “You hungry for Chinese?” he asked as he replaced his shades and picked up Cal from the spot he laid on the floor.

“Only if it’s the place on the corner,” Dave replied, retrieving his own eyewear before following the older blond. 

<><><><><> 

_“Bro?” He jarred up from sleep, running a hand through his spiked hair musing for a moment where his hat had fallen off to. An infomercial about something or other was playing from the muted TV._

_“What’s up little man?”_

_Dave sniffled; it looked like he was (or at the very least, had been) crying again. All the boy did in reply was to turn his head to the side, as if he was unsure about his decision to come out._ Fuck, is he scared of me now, _Bro wondered. “Why you up so late huh?” The red eyed boy merely mumbled something under his breath and rubbed absentmindedly at his bandage. “What’s that? And don’t pick,” he nudged Dave’s hand away from the bandage and was pleasantly surprised when the kid didn’t flinch away._

_“My head’s really fuzzy and everything’s dizzy and my arm is sore and itchy and I had a nightmare but it was weird and scary and you weren’t in your room when I checked and-“_

_“Hey, hey, calm down. It’s all fine.”_ Kid’s probably out of his mind from all that cough syrup I gave him. _He grabbed Dave and plopped the boy next to him on the couch. “Nightmares won’t dare come ‘round when I’m here.”_

_“You sure?”_

_He ruffled Dave’s hair, the boy already looking sleepy again despite the earlier worries. “There will be a remarkable beatdown on any terror’s ass that has the audacity to challenge me.” The kid seemed to be further mollified by that, the tension visibly dissipating out of his small form._

_“We’re still gonna play tomorrow right?” the younger one mumbled, already drifting off again and curled up against his side._

_Bro slouched back into the couch with his arm around the boy, feeling more relaxed than he had all day. “Yeah, little man. No swords ‘til your arm heals up though.” Dave just nodded contentedly, pushing himself further into his brother._

_Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this._


End file.
